I often reflect on how easily, albeit uncomfortably, I think that I could have finished -- and what if? I had a pacer and all star crew there. Daylight would have come pretty soon. But whatever. I quit. Finishing would have concealed my truth. My truth was that hundreds were too hard for me. I could do them, but not they way I wanted to do them. I wanted to run them and stay warm. I did not want to walk the nights. I was just not a good enough athlete to avoid or run through them. I could enjoy hundreds on miracle days. But it was not worth the planning and hotel rooms and involvement of crew fishing for miracles. I would run shorter races that finished in a single cycle of daylight. I would still go long, just not as long. Not in the dark. And I could go faster.
Had I not quit and instead finished, I would have totally buried my truth. The elation of finishing Pine to Palm 2 would have had me planning my next hundred. Probably a harder one (like Cascade Crest), where I would find my truth at least a year later and after more expense. So I tell myself, and am somewhat convinced, that the right thing happened at Pine to Palm 2. And I made the right decision. Even though quitting totally sucks and has all the sting and stink of skunk and lasts way longer.
So I quit hundreds, and Ellen T. asked me if that even meant Western States. That question made me so mad, because I felt called out. I did not want to have to explain that I already had three years of qualifiers and a desire to do that one once more. Since she was the only one that asked, I never addressed it. (Sorry, Ellen. Not like you did anything wrong.)
Until later that year, when I signed up for Western States, The Lottery again. I went public (posted on social media) that I registered. I went to the lottery. Jill (my pacer from day one, if you are new here) had 32 tickets. I had 4. Both represented very roughly the same in % chance to get selected. Jill maybe roughly 1 in 3. Me more like 1 in 25. I could look it up. So could you. Anyway, she had a pretty decent chance. I did not. I was there to see her get selected. Since I had run in 2014 and she had never run, even though she had been in the lottery since 2013, it was just supposed to work that way. Not only that, since finishing myself, my Western States dream has been to pace Jill there. I wanted that more than a second chance for myself. Not even close. But maybe not "more", but "before".
She did not get selected. I got picked #33 on the wait list. Western States had only had a wait list for the past two years. The wait list had made it to and through the mid-thirties the previous years, with the 39th and 36th runners being the last offered a spot. I noted that the first year of the deferral list would take some would-be decliners off of the list. Still, everybody and I mean everybody told me that I was a shoe-in, but that it would come down to the wire. Runners were invited off the wait list until Friday at 1300 before the Saturday 0500 run. If I got invited, it would almost certainly happen in Squaw the week of the run. I noted how ironic it was that I quit hundreds in part because of all the planning, and that I would now spend six months planning for a hundred I might never run.
I also noted that it totally happened to the right guy. I would train my guts out for States and be in Squaw Valley that week anyway like I had for the past few to several years. The wait list could be a great resource burden to some. Extra training. Mountain trips. The trip to Squaw. I was going to do all that anyway. I tried to keep telling folks and myself that I would just pack an extra bag. Referring to a bag of extra shoes, clothes, and caffeine and calories for crew to carry with me along the course. Other than the extra bag, 2019 would just be another year. That was mostly true, but being on the wait list bubble was still kind of exhausting. I told everybody that being on the wait list was a very rich experience. It was. Super intense! But I would not recommend it for everybody for sure. You have to be able to find the value of experience. Just experiencing things.
Now in hindsight, it went mostly as I expected it. Training went pretty well. I know from some experience now that I can get ready for a hundred on my regular schedule just by dropping in a few well timed races and long weekends. From there, it is about weight management; getting lucky with some kind of taper; and one long, good day. That stuff was going along well. My 2019-for-2020 qualifier was going to be Sean O'Brien, which got cancelled and rolled to a new 100K version of Leona Divide. Leona had been on my list for a while, but was too close to Lake Sonoma. After nailing Sonoma in 2017 and a flu DNF in 2018, 2019 was the perfect year for something different.
Leona Divide went well enough. 100K PR on a short course. Started out mopey but eventually got going. Finished on a really long, strong second wind. In March, I had run Way Too Cool under five hours for the second time, which was also my second sub-5 50K anywhere. I was running well. I had an always lovely but running unremarkable Silver State 50M for a slightest course PR. I could not justify going to Western States training camp -- taking up a spot to maybe be a jinx seemed dumb.
One thing I did different was that I did set my sights a little (as much as you can from the wait list) on sub-24 hours for Western States 2019. Like I say, I was running well. I could not justify changing my routine for it too much, from the wait list, but figured I might dial things up a bit and see how hard I can push it. I think I got a little burnt out. I think it mostly would not have mattered much. Given my dependence on my routine for confidence, I do not think that my fitness varies much. I think like a lot of serious hobby athletes I probably do not rest enough. I am probably usually a little over-trained, with somewhat unpredictable bursts of freshness. So it is about finding or manufacturing one of those bursts over anything training or diet related.
So I arrived in Squaw Valley on the Wednesday of race week in great shape, uninjured, and with that extra bag and a pretty respectable tan. I have been coming to Squaw Valley since 2014, my first and only year in the run. As explained to my wife, Western States week is my version of the guy's Vegas trip. I go by myself, but with hundreds of friends. I stay at a nice resort and eat at restaurants. Only it is all immersed in the theme of the love of running through nature. Like, all the way through nature. Sometimes around and around in nature.
Back to the experience for experience thing. Getting to Squaw Valley without knowing how I was getting out was a trip. Not knowing whether I would drive away in my car. And if not me, because I got selected (moved-up the list) to run, who would retrieve it? Tripping out. Smirking in acknowledgment of how trippy it all was. And one cool thing about hanging around the race for so long is that a lot or even most of the race officials, employees, and super volunteers know who you are. I love being known. I admit it. This blog is not called "Hella Foot Vanity" for nothing! Well in 2019, when I got to Squaw, those folks who knew me also knew I was working my way up the list. By the time I had arrived, there were only two runners ahead of me, thanks to a handful being entered off the list in the previous week. I was still a coin flip, based on the previous two years and the fact that it seemed reasonable (not likely or not) that a few more would decline in the final days. Two of the guys ahead of me were from Alabama and Japan. They would need to be literally on their way, or I was next.
Well get this: They were, literally, on their way to Squaw Valley. The morning before the run, which is the last day you can be invited, somebody dropped from the entrants list. The guy from Alabama was entered. I had learned that the guy from Japan was on his way when Race Director Uncle Craig T. shouted that to me from across the Squaw quad the day prior. It was funny. Craig spotted me across the way. We have gotten to be seasonal buddies. He lives in Auburn, and I see him a few to several times a year. He yells, "The guy from Japan is on his way!" Sounded like code for something, but everybody knew what it meant. It was funny, but it was a great part of the experience. Run or not, I was part of Western States 2019. A weird, big part.
So before I had dressed, I had moved from 3 to 2. If two people did not show up to register or otherwise remove themselves, I was running one hundred miles the next day. Oh yeah. That. So what if I did have to run a third of the way back home? Remember that thought about what would happen to my car? And who might drive me back? All year, I tried not to think (at least not too much) about the logistical stuff and planning. It is true that I hate worrying about lights, and batteries, and watches, and backup batteries and watches, and jackets, and all the things that come with running through the night. You leave them with drop bags or crew, but then you have to pack and strategize drop bags and coordinate with crew. Yeah. Crew.
Jill is always at Duncan Canyon. Duncan Canyon is the mile 23+ aid station and has been manned by the Quicksilver Running Club since almost forever. It happened to the right guy, because my pacer was already going to be there. I still needed a driver. Although Jill could find her way to Foresthill (mile 62 major checkpoint where you can take a pacer), we would need somebody waiting for us at the finish to drive everybody to cars. It would be nice if that same person could "crew" or follow us throughout the night for encouragement but mostly to carry my batteries. That person would be Stan. He knew the course from 2014 and agreed to wait list crew. Guy would hopefully join too, since he also would be at Duncan Canyon. But we would not plan. Plan for what? I was not even in yet. Stan had his notes from 2014.
I laugh now. Western States is a big deal. If you run it, you probably have a bigger than usual crew. People just want to be involved. And you want to pull out all of the stops. In 2014, all of that plus it was my very first hundred. I had two crews. Not uncommon at Western States but laughable to me now. A Crew and B Crew. A Crew was Jill and Guy. They would be my Finish and River pacers and also see me at Duncan Canyon and Dusty Corners. B Crew was Elisa and Stan. They met me at Robinson Flat and Michigan Bluff. A and B crews combined at Foresthill, where I ran off with Guy. Etc., etc.. My wait list crew was Jill and Stan, and Jill was already there. Guy was too. It happened to the right guy.
Anyway, so when you wake up having moved from third to second, and you have until lunchtime to wait? You go back to your room and watch HGTV until there is literally nothing to do but have lunch and go find out whether or not you are running. I did not want to spend the whole time talking about it, so I hid. Which was fine. But then, I went out for lunch. Then, I went to where the runners checkin. This was intense. Where do I start?
First of all, seemed like lots of people just milling about. Like me. I saw two Japanese guys. If I was correct, one of them was Daishi K. from Japan. Originally #32 on the wait list. Now #1. One of the volunteers checking the runners in was me and Elisa's friend Emily Y.. I explained probably unnecessarily my predicament. She undoubtedly wished me luck. A lurker nearby introduced himself to me. Dan. Dan was #36 now #3, behind me. Dan and I have a mutual friend also named Dan who had asked me if I was going to be in Squaw for the Dan I was meeting now. Dan explained that he had been there counting and that five had not yet checked in. I am with my people, I thought. I felt so odd milling about around the runner registration area, only to find out that the guy in front and behind me on the wait list were there too. My wait list people.
We watched a couple more runners come and go along with the deadline. It was now obvious that the Japanese guy was THE Japanese guy, so I introduced myself. Daishi had come all the way from Japan for this chance. We were minutes from finding out whether or not in only sixteen hours we were running one hundred miles. The waves and waves of feelings were intense. I want to get selected. But am I ready? To come this close. And standing next to me, Daishi, and what he must be thinking. And for the best time, I was thinking it happened to the right guy. Because no matter how I felt, Daishi had come all the way from Japan. And no matter my "hardship", his was greater. It was as if he flew all the way from Japan, so I knew that I was the right guy. So that I knew it was not that bad. I knew that the experience was super unique and intense. And it brought me together and linked me with people literally from around the World. Especially the running world. I was much better than OK.
Race Director Craig came out from the registration area to say something along the lines of that he had to do the final count and attempt to contact anybody not yet checked-in. A few minutes later, he came out. He addressed Daishi. Craig told him that he loved his job, but that this was a tougher part of it. The entrants list for 2019 was closed. Daishi would not run. Craig then looked at me and said, "You hear all that?" I think I told him that I appreciated him no less.
Daishi seemed a bit relieved to not get selected. A bit relieved to not have to run one hundred miles through tough mountain terrain the next day after unimaginable jet lag from the week's flight from Japan and mad dash packing. I can only imagine. I felt a little relief too, but mostly pretty deep disappointment. To have six months of hop, training, and anticipation end in a super cute but pretty unremarkable moment on the deck was very quick and final. It was time to process the logistics. What did that mean for my tomorrow?
First order of business was to let the crew know. Jill and Guy could be told personally, when I arrived at Duncan Canyon. I would work my regular shift there. I had considered working an all-night shift at Auburn Lake Trails (ALT mile 85) aid station with my other club the Coastside Running Club. One thing about the wait list that was a bit bitter was how it prevented you from finding and committing to a good pacing gig. Pierre C. was to pace Eric G. from Foresthill -- a couple of the Quicksilver French guys. Pierre was coming back from injury and skeptical of the whole thing. He asked me to pace Eric from the river -- the last twenty miles. I had a job! So I would work Duncan, freshen-up in Roseville, then pace the night shift.
Just need to let Stan know to stay put. It was not even 1330 yet. A few of my homies share locations on our iPhones, including Stan. Stan and I may have started it with Western States. Anyway, when I went to let Stan know that I would not be running, I saw that he was already in like Martinez or even Davis. Dude had made the leap of faith well before lunch that he was coming to Squaw Valley. Dude knew. Stan knew that, if I was running, he was working. If I was not running, I might need some company or help processing. I also might not. But Stan was going to be there just in case. Did it happen to the right guy? Or what?
My friend Erica from Truckee had already come up for a visit. We tried to get to High Camp via Shirley Lake from Squaw but hit too much snow and ice. Now Stan was on the way. We hiked to the falls and had dinner. We got up crazy early and watch ed the Start. Then, I knew from experience that I had to hustle to Duncan Canyon to make myself useful, before the first runners arrived. Since I was not pacing the full distance from Foresthill, for the first time ever, I saw the Finish. Jim Walmsley, the seemingly prohibitive favorite chased all day by Flagstaff bro Jared Hazen, broke the course record. And I saw it, before running my way back to the track from the river with Eric. It was awesome. It happened to the right guy.
